Wednesday, March 4, 2009

I happen to love Mark Bittman. And I love my Bitty in a special kind of way. You know the sound of your favorite singer's voice? The one that if you possessed magical powers, could pull a "Litte Mermaid" and swap out your singing voice for theirs (my swap would be Norah Jones, btw)? Well, Mark Bittman's food knowledge and writing style (indefinitely tied with Ruth Reichl, the Food Goddess herself) is one that I'd be blessed and honored to mimic. His blog for the New York Times, Bitten, always features smart, short recipes, how-to videos, and posts that are simple, to the point, and always entertaining. Nothing's overdone, nothing's over-produced, it's just him, his food know how, and the really important stuff: the food itself. Just as it should be.That said, while this article is a few months old, I consider it an extremely important read. Think your kitchen's too small to cook in? Time to get over it. If you really wanna get in there and create, experiment, nibble, entertain then nothing's gonna stop ya. And a small kitchen is no excuse. Here in Manhattan, large kitchens are few and far between. Your kitchen or coffee table may need to become a temporary butcher's block but, hey. Chopping onions while sitting on your couch may not sound ideal but when you're kicking back and enjoying a bowl of 5-hour, slow-cooked bolognese, you're going to zip the lip.It. Is. That. Good.

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who i am

When faced with the question of what food means to me, conversation inevitably shifts to my Mor-Mor (Swedish for Grandmother): A phenomenal cook who refused help in the kitchen and didn't believe in recipes. The real deal, if you will.

Mor-Mor had a seriously strong hand with garlic (surprisingly for a Swede) and an innate knack for making anything taste implausibly delicious. There was always a jar of homemade garlic oil in her fridge which found its way drizzled on top of almost everything. Like one of her breakfast treats: homemade bread slathered with garlic oil, a few slices of granny smith apple, and topped with extra sharp cheddar. Into her beloved toaster oven they'd go until the cheese had just melted, lovingly, over the apples. The salty-sweet combination could make your head spin—a beautiful cohesion of flavors and textures from such an unexpected pairing.

And then there were her meatballs. With her homemade tomato sauce made from tomatoes grown in her garden, picked when perfectly plump and warm from the summer sun, a ladle of garlic oil, and tons of parsley (Mor-Mor may or may not have been secretly Italian), they sent eyeballs rolling to the backs of people’s heads. The thought alone of her in that kitchen makes my heart long, once again, for her cooking. For her.

Now when I'm cooking, I finally understand her insistence on navigating the kitchen alone. There's something about getting in there and winding down and having your own personal space to create that’s beyond therapeutic—it’s wholly fulfilling and soul-satisfying.